


Mech Eng Do It With Robots

by lookatthesefreakinghipsters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean in Glasses, Dysfunctional Family, Engineer Dean, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nerd Dean, Past Relationship(s), Punk Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookatthesefreakinghipsters/pseuds/lookatthesefreakinghipsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the cold of Dean's under-heated university townhouse, Castiel confides in Dean about his family and his fears for the future.  Total fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mech Eng Do It With Robots

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this absolutely beautiful art by [hvit-ravn](http://hvit-ravn.tumblr.com/post/67077290848/for-edith).
> 
> (Dean’s pick-up lines are from [here](http://www.pickuplinesgalore.com/math.html), [here](http://fuckyeahsciencepickuplines.tumblr.com/post/13425630374/i-want-to-diffuse-down-your-gradient) and [here](http://fuckyeahsciencepickuplines.tumblr.com/post/65809681822/the-limit-of-my-love-for-you-does-not-exist), the Markov chain one is my own invention)

Despite the fact that Dean had known Cas for nearly two years, it wasn’t until they had been sleeping together for nearly three weeks that Cas finally opened up to him. They were lying on Dean’s twin bed, cramped together on the tiny mattress, both in their boxers, with a heavy comforter strewn haphazardly over them. Cas started to shiver a little, the sweat on his back starting to cool uncomfortably in the cold room. The drafty townhouse managed to lose what little heat Dean, Charlie and Aaron were willing to pay for almost immediately. Dean dug himself out from under the comforter and got out of the bed. His feet hit the cold floor and he shuddered momentarily. Grabbing his thick-rimmed glasses from his bedside and putting them on his face, he was able to find his hoodie sweatshirt from under a pile of textbooks on differential equations, physics and fluid mechanics. He’d bought it from the engineering department’s student union last semester and it proudly declared that “Mech Eng Do It With Robots.” He passed it over to Cas with an affectionate smile and said, “Here you go.”

Cas sat up and pulled the sweatshirt on, covering surprisingly well-defined abs and his tattoo on his lower stomach, much to Dean’s slight regret. “Thanks Dean,” Cas said, pulling the hood over his head, keeping the shaved part of his head warm.

Dean found a long-sleeved Batman shirt and threw it on quickly, then crawled back into bed next to Cas. “Mmm,” he whispered, pulling himself close to Cas. “I don’t think I ever want to get out of this bed. It’s cold out there.”

Cas relaxed into Dean’s arms, wrapping one leg over Dean’s ankles. “We’ll have to go out to get food at some point.”

"Nah," Dean replied, "I’ll just text Charlie. Five bucks says I can convince her to bring us a pizza. Then we’d be warm and we’d have pizza."

"No making Charlie do us favours. She’s got her Data Management final on Friday."

Dean made a ‘pssth’ sound at that. “That’s the thing about us Comp Sci and Eng students. We’ve always got exams. It pretty much never ends. Not like you Visual Arts students,” Dean teased gently, not forgetting for a second the incredible amount of time and work Cas had to put in to finish his projects. Only a week before, he’d gotten a text at 10am from Cas reading, ‘You. Bring coffee. Need. Art Studio.’ When he’d gotten there, Cas told him he’d been up for nearly 30 hours to finish his project. It had been like nothing Dean had ever seen. A canvas, taller than him, with the image of a man with burned and broken wings behind him. The wings escaped the picture, extended on each side of the canvas, each burned feather held by glue to the wire framework. The man was naked, with his arms crossed and hands clutching the opposing shoulder. His head was turned away, yet the eyes stared out defiantly, as though to challenge the viewer. When Dean had asked Cas about it, he’d simply replied that the man was trying to escape but had been burnt by it.

"Yeah," Cas replied, pulling away slightly. One arm still trapped under Dean, but Cas was staring at the ceiling. "I’ve been thinking about changing majors. I’ve got enough political science credits from my minor, I’m thinking about making it my major. Having visual arts as a minor instead."

Pushing himself up onto his left elbow, Dean furrowed his brow. His glasses slipped a little down his nose and he pushed them back up with a finger. “Why’s that?” he asked, concern slipping into his voice.

"I was talking to my parents over the Thanksgiving break and they really think I should be studying something with a bit more "real-world" applicability," Cas said, using his free hand to air quote. "I like political science. Maybe I can use it to affect some real change in this world."

Dean felt the weight of importance in this conversation suddenly. Cas didn’t talk about his parents much, if ever, and rarely brought them up himself. Dean had pieced together some information about his friend’s family over the years, that they’re extremely religious, aren’t terribly happy with their gay son and weren’t exactly supportive of their son’s artistic aspirations. Apparently they’d been putting the screws in him to choose something else. “Cas,” he said, softly, putting his right hand on his friend’s hip, “you’re going to change the world, whether through your art, through your music, or through your political activism.” Dean noticed the leather cord around Cas’s neck peeking out from the hoodie. He pulled out Cas’ cross and held it in his fingers for a moment. “You’re the strongest person I know and you’re going to do great things, no matter what. But you have to be happy. And if you’d be happier studying political science, go for it. But if you want to be studying visual arts, you should do that.” Letting go of the cross, Dean wrapped an arm over Cas’ shoulder, pulling him close.

Cas’ eyes flitted down for a moment, unable to meet Dean’s own green ones. He took a few deep breaths and glanced up to meet Dean’s gaze. Their eyes locked together, Cas said, “Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything.”

Unwilling to break eye-contact, Dean gave him a bare nod. “Okay Cas,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.

Words tumbled out of Cas’ mouth, a story of a childhood overshadowed by his brothers, Michael, now a Congressman in Massachusetts, and Lucifer, a hedge-fund manager in New York. His parents had been less than loving, and more just plain distant. A series of nannies, caregivers and boarding schools had cared for him. They had been upset when he came out in high school, and they became even more distant than normal. Going off to university was a huge relief for Cas, because he could finally get away from the expectations of his parents and they were paying for his studies, even though they didn’t really approve, mostly because of how it would look to their peers if they didn’t.

"You remember me at the beginning of freshman year?" Cas asked, shaking his head in amusement.

Dean snorted a little, remembering Cas in his crisp button-down shirts, well-pressed khakis, and sensible haircut. It had only taken six months before that image was buried under ripped jeans, piercings in his ears and eyebrow, and his now-customary Mohawk. “You looked like a Young Republican.”

"Says the man who came here with a beat-up leather jacket and more plaid than the Canadian army." Dean grinned at that, by the time Cas was shedding the conservative look, he was picking up and embracing new interests, thanks to Charlie’s cheerful, but infectious, influence. His plain t-shirts started being crowded out by Batman and Star Trek t-shirts and while he kept his father’s hand-me-down leather jacket carefully cared for in his closet, he had found a deep red leather jacket on sale which fit him perfectly. "And you absolutely refused to be seen in your glasses," Cas added, poking the side of Dean’s glasses quickly before shoving his hand back under the blanket for warmth. After a few months of making sure that he wore his contacts every moment that he could be seen by others, he lost a contact in the middle of a class and had to duck out and change to his glasses. Between the time he returned to class and the end of it, four different classmates had passed him their phone numbers. He’d started wearing his glasses the majority of the time after that.

Dean smiled indulgently at Cas. “I always thought that you looked handsome, Young Republican or not.”

"It’s how my parents wanted me to dress. It’s how Michael and Lucifer dressed when they went to school. Getting my first piercing felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, like this was my chance to be who I want to be. Like maybe I could be happy."

Pushing his glasses up on his face and smiling self-deprecatingly, Dean said, “I get that.”

Cas shifted his hand from Dean’s waist and trailed his fingers along the side of Dean’s torso. “Studying what made me happy. My art. Meeting you, Charlie, Aaron, Balthazar,” Cas said, ignoring the way Dean’s face darkened at the mention of Cas’ ex-boyfriend. Balthazar and Dean had not gotten along very well, Dean was still coming to terms with his bisexuality and his crush on Cas when Balthazar and Cas had been dating. Balthazar had simply disliked Dean and had not appreciated the way Dean would steal Cas’ time and attention. Eventually, they broke up fairly amicably, as Balthazar was set on doing a year abroad in France and neither of them thought they would be able to make the relationship work long-distance. “That’s what made me okay with being who I am, and damn the rest.”

He sighed, resignedly. “But perhaps it’s just time to do something for them.”

Dean reached with his free hand and grasped the back of Cas’ head gently, his fingers embedded in the thick dark hair of his boyfriend’s Mohawk with the flesh of his palm in the shaved part. He pulled Cas towards him and kissed him softly, lovingly. “Screw them,” he said, his eyes closed and his lips only a centimeter from Cas’ own. Cas drew back in surprise at Dean. Dean’s eyes opened and they sought out Cas’, imploringly. “I’m serious,” he added, “it’s not their fucking lives. If living a life that will make them happier will make you the happiest, do that. But if staying in art, if that’s what will make you happiest, do that. Maximize your utility, your happiness function, man. Can you live with them being unhappy with your choices? Will that pain be more or less than the pain of studying something you’re not happy with? It’s your life, Cas. All I want is for you to be happy in it.”

"Thank you, Dean," Cas replied seriously, mulling over Dean’s words momentarily. Smiling at Dean affectionately, he shifted his weight, rolling Dean onto his back and covering his boyfriend’s body with his own. "I love it when you talk nerdy to me. ‘Maximize my utility.’"

"Mmmm," Dean said, as Cas, peppered his face and chest with kisses. "You fascinate me more than the Fundamental Theorem of Calculus." 

"Keep going," Cas encouraged, kissing Dean’s jawline as his fingers wandered under his Batman shirt.

"I want to diffuse down your gradient," Dean added, before rolling Cas over so he was on top, right near the edge of the small bed. Grabbing Cas’ hands, he held them by the wrists above Cas’ head and whispered, "Maybe I should Markov chain you up?" Cas groaned, bucking his hips at Dean.

Dean let go of Cas’ hands, who wrapped them around his boyfriend’s waist. Dean lowered himself, resting his belly against Cas’, and kissed him roughly at first, then tenderly. Pulling away from Cas’ lips, he said softly, “The limit of my love for you does not exist.”

"I love you too, Dean," Cas replied, his fingers ghosting tenderly against Dean’s lips. The chill of the room seemed to fade in that moment and Dean felt warmer than he ever had in his life.


End file.
